


Twenty Sherlolly Prompts: Wedding Bell Blues

by MizJoely



Series: Twenty Sherlolly Prompts [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But all's well that ends well, Drunken weeping, F/M, Fluff, Sherlolly - Freeform, Wedding disasters piling up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:38:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2110224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>cumbercookie81 said: Congratulations! (throws confetti) You are absolutely amazing, I really enjoy your blog. Can you write me a prompt with a Sherlolly wedding and lots of trouble around? Thanks</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty Sherlolly Prompts: Wedding Bell Blues

**Author's Note:**

> mizjoely replies: Enjoy this bit of wandering craziness. It doesn't get to the actual wedding, but I certainly hope the wackiness ensues to everyone's liking on Molly's hen night! Rated T for implied sexytimes at the end and some questionable language and alcohol consumption!

First it was the venue; a water main break meant a hasty relocation to the lovely gardens adjacent to Sherlock’s family home, at the insistence of his parents. That was fine, really, as it turned out to solve the next problem, which was the flowers. The order, which had been on file with the florist for a good six months, mysteriously went missing three weeks before the wedding. But the wedding was in summer, outdoors, and the roses were in bloom so that, too, was fine. Molly was still able to get the bouquets and boutonnieres for herself, her two bridesmaids (her friend Meena and Mary Watson), Sherlock, Mycroft and John. Mrs. Holmes (“Call me Violet, dear, we’re already family, the wedding is just a formality!”) and Mrs. Hudson assured the nervous bride that they would take care of the rest.

All of that would have been fine. Even the fact that her wedding gown was somehow shortened to tea-length (just above Molly’s ankles) rather than full-length by the final fitting wasn’t actually a disaster, as it would make walking on the lawn much easier. And the bridesmaid and maid-of-honor dresses for Meena and Mary looked perfectly fine in teal rather than the lovely amber Molly had picked out.

But when the groom and best man were both called away to stop a kidnapping attempt on Prince George two days before the wedding, Molly decided it was time to give in and let fate have its way.

“It’s doomed,” she announced gloomily as she knocked back her third glass of wine and unsteadily surveyed the other women in the room. It wasn’t a proper hen party, out at the bars raising a ruckus, but that had never been what she wanted and she was fine with it. Just as she was fine with the guests – Meena, Mary, Sally Donovan, Mrs. Hudson, Mrs. Ho—er, Violet, and Mycroft’s PA Anthea. Or Andrea. Molly was never sure what her real name was, and she answered to both and never corrected anyone and…what had been her point? Oh yes. “The wedding. It’s doomed. I’m going to message Sherlock and tell him it’s off.”

A chorus of protests met her words, and she ticked off the many signs the universe had clearly been chucking at her as evidence that she was making the right decision. “Besides,” she concluded as she groped for the open bottle of wine on the low table her feet were propped up against, “we all know that there’s no way Sherlock an’ John make it back in time.” Her eyes widened as her drunken synapses made what seemed to be the right connections, and she gasped. “I’ll bet he did this on purpose! He keeps saying weddings are bollocks!” She appealed to Mary for back up. “Din’t he say weddings’re bollocks, Mare? Din’ he? He said your wedding was bollocks, I know he did…not that you an’ John shouldn’t be married, of course, just that weddings were, you know…”

“Bollocks?” Mary supplied helpfully when Molly fell silent due to her inability to conjure up the correct word.

She nodded wildly, nearly slopping the wine out of her glass. “Yes! Bollocks, tha’s what he says about weddings, and that means he doesn’t wannna wedding. And the universe doesn’t want us t’have one, either, or else my dress would be six inches longer!” She gave another nod, decisively, feeling she’d well made her point.

“My son is an idiot,” Mrs. Holmes proclaimed, scowling at her mimosa before taking a hefty sip. “Both my sons’re idiots,” she added with a bit of a slur, this time scowling pointedly in Andrea/Anthea’s direction. The younger woman simply raised an eyebrow and slipped her mobile into her pocket without saying anything…but her blank expression spoke volumes to Molly’s wine-soaked brain. “Molly, luv, Sherlock may think weddings are bollocks, but he knows very well how successful marriages can be. As does Myc,” she added, with another pointed look at Andrea. Anthea? Althea? “And I certainly din’t – didn’t – raise them to be such boors, I promise you that!”

Peering suspiciously into her glass, she declared, “Someone’s put too much champagne in the mumoosas. Mimoosas. Mimosas!” she finished triumphantly. “Whoever it was…good show!”

“Hear, hear!” Mrs. Hudson cheered, raising her glass and clinking it against Violet’s. Fortunately both were more than half-empty or they would have sloshed them all over one another’s hands.

“I don’t think Shel- _Sher_ lock wants to marry me at all,” Molly announced mournfully. The friendly chatter in the room immediately silenced as she looked at the gathered women. “I think he’s just doing it cause he thinks that’s what’s expected of him. ‘Shocietal norms’,” she said in very poor attempt as mimicry.

“Now that’s bollocks,” announced Sally Donovan, her voice firm and entirely unslurred. She’d already proven she could hold her liquor better than anyone currently in the room, and Molly watched enviously as she rose from her seat and crossed the room without so much as wavering before plunking herself down on the sofa, shoving herself between Molly and Meena, who was making consoling “there, there” noises and being of absolutely no use. “Look, Molly, you know Sherlock and I don’t always get on…”

“Understatement of the century,” Mary snorted, then hushed as Sally glared at her before turning her attention back to the morose bride-to-be.

“We don’t always get on, but we’ve made our peace with one another and one thing he and I both absolutely agree on, Molly Hooper, is that you are the best thing that ever happened to him. He tried to feed me some bullshit about John but let’s be honest; he has no interest in shagging John, and he’s needed a good shag for years now, and now that he’s getting it on the regular he’s actually turned into a decent human being. Most of the time. Well, sometimes. Occasionally…what was I saying?”

“You’re pissed!” Molly blurted out in shock. She’d never seen Sally Donovan get pissed, and certainly not on anything as pedestrian as wine!

“Am not!” Sally shot back, looking offended. “I just…I’m not very good at this sort of thing, is all. What I meant was that he loves you, which I never thought he was capable of – sorry, Mrs. Holmes…”

Violet waved her hand. “No offense taken, my dear. My boys can be very…erm, difficult…at times. And no one knows that better than me!”

Sally nodded agreement, then patted Molly’s hand clumsily. “So anyway, yeah, you’re the best thing that ever happened to Sherlock, Molly, and he would be an idiot to not marry you even if the universe is sending omens. Which I don’t think it is, personally. I don’t believe in them. It’s just a bunch of stupid coincidences, is all.”

“Of course it is.” Every woman in the room craned their head in the direction of door, from which Sherlock’s signature baritone had originated. “Molly, the universe isn’t trying to tell us we shouldn’t get married, and even if I have said that weddings are bollocks…” He grimaced as if the word left a bad taste in his mouth… “You’re certainly paraphrasing.” He crossed the room and pulled his inebriated – and now freely crying – fiancée to her feet and from there into his arms.

“Continue your little soiree, ladies,” he said crisply as he headed for the stairs. “I’m off to reassure Molly that no matter what happens between now and the day after tomorrow, I have no desire to live my life without her in it.”

To the sound of cheers and whistles – and Molly’s increased but now entirely happy sobbing – he and his pathologist vanished up the stairs.

“I think I’ll just put on some music,” Mary announced hurriedly as it dawned on her (she was a bit slow on the uptake due to her own alcoholic consumption) what Sherlock and Molly were most likely about to do. And as she and John (and Mrs. Hudson, who was looking a bit pale) well knew, neither Sherlock nor Molly seemed to understand the concept of subtlety when it came to certain activities.

And really, there was no need for Mrs. Holmes to ever have to live with the memory of her future daughter-in-law screaming out Sherlock’s name in ecstasy as he shouted out, erm, _personal instructions._


End file.
